Whispers

In the crook of my neck, I sense your breath.  

In the crumples of your shirts, I sense my fingers.  

I remember the texture of your hair, pretty rough these days.  

It's like you're etched in my soul, in my deepest nerve.  

The gloomy days remind me of you,  
not because you're gloomy, because I need my sun to brighten the day up.  

Or maybe the broken heel of my shoe, cause I'd have your arm to hold on to.  

It's like you're in my soul, a part of me—inseparable.  

We were unbelievably bland, you and I.  
There was truly nothing novel like.  

But you know what, that was the part almost too special to bite.  

Like a soul is etched into mine. Simplicity alike.  

Is this how you remember me? Unbelievably happy?  
Or maybe unfazed, or just angry? Do you, at all, feel me?  
Or take a heavy breath at the thought of my absence?  

Like two souls etched together, and that it's the only feel-coherence?